


The Last Stop

by Dexidoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Give Warnings, good luck, shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexidoodle/pseuds/Dexidoodle
Summary: Modern Westeros AUThe road can be long, the road can be lonely but Sandor Clegane can always count on the Weirwood Eatery to provide.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 105
Kudos: 267





	1. A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HamburgerFacedMurderDog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamburgerFacedMurderDog/gifts).



> I interpreted a Tumblr post by hamburgerfacedmurderdog as a prompt...
> 
> https://hamburgerfacedmurderdog.tumblr.com/post/190285016930

**Chapter 1 - A Day in the Life**

He traveled through this quiet and sleepy Northern town regularly. It was the last real place to stop before The Wall.

Beyond The Wall, from Castle Black all the way to Hardhome, there was nothing but ice, snow and cunts. It was shit up there. Miserable as fuck. But, you take the bad with the good.

Hardhome was the end of the line. The bleak, overcast and geographically isolated little hamlet meant the trip was over and that he could turn around and finally head south again.... after getting stonkingly drunk on the incredibly strong clear liquor that they distilled up there and waking up with the cruelest type of hangover, a black eye and torn up knuckles from whatever brawl he had most probably started and a pissed off dog who wanted nothing to do with him for the next few days.

THIS town though... _this_ was a good place. The last bastion of civilised society before the harsh frozen hellscape of the Far North and their stinking, feral Wildlings.

He shifted gears down and eased his truck into the large parking area of The Weirwood Eatery off Winterfell Road and parked up on the far edge, well away from the giant tree that sheltered the diner and gave it its name and its fucking leaves. He took one last drag from his smoke, almost down to the filter and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray. The steely-eyed bitch who ran this place (with an iron fucking fist) had banned smoking inside her 'establishment' last year... much to his absolute horror, it had been the last place on his run where he could linger over his coffee with a Marlboro.

He grunted tiredly, ran his large calloused hand over his stubbled face and smoothed his lank hair over his scars.

He sneered as his cab door was suddenly yanked open from the outside and he glared down at the scruffy urchin that swung from it.

"Fuck off, Kid." He rasped darkly.

The girl (he'd been assured it was a girl though he still had his doubts) ignored his surly salutation and grinned impishly up at him through her untidy mop of dark hair.

"I'll take Stranger out for you." She volunteered enthusiastically, her grey eyes sparkling like silver.

"Whatever." He grumbled dismissively, hauling himself out of his seat, climbing down and landing in the gravel and freshly fallen snow with a crunch. He stretched his back out until it made a loud satisfying pop and left the girl standing in the ankle deep drifts to try and coax his antisocial Doberman out from the back sleep space without a backwards glance.

"It smells like a two copper whorehouse in here..." The girls muffled shout found him as he stomped towards the cheery diner. "Sweat, smoke and spunk!"

He flipped her the bird over his shoulder. He heard her laugh boisterously and start to make kissie sounds at his grumpy dog.

He shouldered his way through the heavy glass door and stopped short as Catelyn Stark, the formidable diner owner blocked his path.

"Boots." She snapped sharply as she glared up at him, her hands firmly entrenched on her shapely hips.

He drew in a deep impatient breath and backed up a step, before obediently toeing off his heavy boots. He glared at her as he made a show of lining them up tidily by the door. There were some quite big holes in his socks, one on his heel and one that allowed his long second toe to peek through.

The Stark woman gave him an approving nod.

"How're the south roads?" Cat said by way of proper greeting, leading him towards his usual table on the back wall.

He grunted. "Kings Road's okay, 'cept the road works south of Cerwyn and the bridge at The Twins is down to one lane with the flooding down there." He slid into his booth.

Cat nodded. "It's slow going between Mole's Town and Castle Black... Heavy snow, they're having trouble keeping the road clear." 

"Nothing new then." He snorted, as Cat placed an empty coffee cup in front of him.

She gave a brief smile, so brief it could very well have been missed. For all that she was handsome woman, she wasn't a friendly one and she didn't approve of _him_ in particular. 

"Bri's due in shortly." She advised him, ignoring his grimace and muttered 'oh joy', "Sansa will be over in a moment for your order."

She turned from him abruptly and swept back across the diner to accost the logging crew coming in through the door. "Jory, Rod... Boots!"

He didn't really pay attention to her retreat as his heart stalled in his chest. He held his breath and he gaped as his waitress glided towards him with a shy smile hovering about her plump pink lips and her bright blue eyes sparkled in wary welcome. Her rich auburn hair was in a long braid today and rested over the right shoulder of her tight white tee shirt. He gulped.

"Hello, Mr Clegane." 

Sansa Stark spoke softly, her voice was light and musical. She always lowered her eyes when she took his order, never truly meeting his gaze. She filled his coffee cup carefully from the carafe she always seemed to carry before placing it on the table top and pulling the notepad from her little white apron and a pink biro from behind her ear.

"What will you be having today, sir?" Her eyes flicked up, just touching on his dark stare before dropping again to her notepad. Her porcelain cheeks coloured.

He winced inwardly. She almost never looked at him. Scared, just like everyone else. Repulsed by his scars, awed by his immense size, cowed by his less than savoury reputation.

"Steak special." He said shortly. "and keep the coffee coming."

She ducked her head in acquiesce, picked up the coffee carafe and scuttled off as fast as she could.

His head listed to the side as he watched her perfect, jeans-clad, heart-shaped bum undulate away. How did she do that? How was someone so sweet and shy and innocent, so damned sexy?

He startled back as an unwelcome face filled his view and plunked his keys on the table in front of him before slipping into the seat opposite him.

"Didn't steal anything, did you?" He grouched at the smart-mouthed Stark urchin as he dragged the keys towards him.

"What would I steal?" She snorted. "Your ancient stained pants? Or your stack of overused stained porn? No thank you."

She tapped her fingertips on the table for a moment staring up at him. "Stranger took a massive dump under Tors driver side door, and pissed all over Bronns tyres... it was hilarious!"

He smirked, the kid was pretty funny.

"Please don't be crass, Arya." Sansa admonished quietly, as she lay a side salad and a small basket of warm rolls on the table next to his elbow. She reached back onto her tray and deposited a little plate with a triangle of butter, a bottle of HP sauce and his cutlery before him. "And stop bothering Mr Clegane." 

Arya rolled her eyes at her older sister.

"She's alright." He rasped as he watched Sansas fluid movements. "What about you, Little Bird? Will I get a song from you this time?"

Sansas cheeks flared scarlet and she hugged her now empty tray to her chest.

"I'm afraid it was just a one off last time, sir." She mumbled at the floor, trying not to watch him covertly from under her lashes. She fled again.

"Seven Hells,..." Arya muttered under her breath, shaking her head in disgust.

"Arya.... Dishes!" Cat hollered from across the diner. "Tor...Boots!"

"Smith preserve me" The urchin sulked. She levered herself out of the booth and slumped towards the kitchen with a veritable storm cloud over her head.

She was quickly replaced in his field of vision by the wild and disheveled form of Tormund Giantsbane.

"Ugly Dog." Tor greeted him jovially.

"Ginger Cunt." He replied with a glower.

Glowers never worked on Tormund, nor harsh words or insults. The guy was a perpetual ray of annoying sunshine. He was almost as tall as Clegane but leaner. He was a mass of ginger hair and mischievous blue eyes. Under the brim of his trucker cap, (advertising Mole's Holes: Mole's Towns finest gentlemens club.) all that could really be seen of his openly friendly face, was the stub of his nose and row after row of gleaming white teeth from his perpetually annoying grin.

"Might wanna reconsider the hat. Bri's due in." 

"Really?" Tormund tore the hat from his head and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Howd' I look?"

In all honesty, his ginger hair was flat on top and stuck out everywhere else like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

"Fine."

Tor flashed him a winning grin.

Sansa appeared at the table again with Cleganes order. She blushed as she lay the large rare steak with chips, fried eggs, onions and mushrooms. He muttered his thanks.

"Hello, Miss Sansa." Tormund greeted her expansively casting her a wink and causing Clegane to scowl.

"Hello, Tor." She replied with bright smile, placing an empty coffee cup in front of him. 

Cleganes scowl deepened... she looked TOR in the eye. He picked up his fork and stabbed his steak far more forcefully than was required. 

"New pot's on. What can I get you?" She gushed.

"Are you all animals? Bronn.... Boots!" Cats voice echoed around the diner.

Tor chuckled, casting a glance over his shoulder at the door and waving his friend over. Bronn slouched towards them, he was barely wearing socks. He was wearing holes held together with bits of wool, the rest of his attire was not much better. He looked like a slick hobo. He shoved Tor over and slid into the booth next to him. He narrowed his dark eyes at Clegane, who resolutely ignored him. Bronn ran his fingers through his slicked back dark hair and looked Sansa up and down.

"Looking good, Red." He leered. 

Sansa giggled and Cleganes brow furrowed in a frown as he gnawed on his steak.

"Coffee, Bronn?" She simpered.

"Yes luv, Perfect." He replied, laying it on really thick. Smarmy cunt! "And get me a steak and kidney pie too, Luv."

"Ohh, yes. Sounds good. Same for me, Sansa." Tor added with a grin.

"Right away." Sansa replied. She looked quickly at Cleganes down turned head and rushed away.

"Your mutt pissed on my tyres again." Bronn grated.

"He's a good boy." Clegane replied without looking up.

"I wouldn't be too smug about it. I pissed all over yours." Bronn leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

Clegane shrugged and downed his coffee in one. "Whatcha hauling?"

Bronn grinned. "You're gonna love this, some rich prick in the capital has bought a glacier from the L.A.W.'s and is selling the melt to equally rich pricks by the bottle. I've got a truckload of bottled glacier."

"Huh... Wankers."

Sansa was back, pies and coffee in hand, which she promptly distributed. She topped up Cleganes cup and hesitated by the table.

"Don't forget your salad, Sir." She murmured shyly. "Greens are good for you."

Clegane looked up in surprise but she was already fleeing, the tips of her ears pink.

"Brienne! So lovely to see you, dear." Cat said loudly enough for everyone to hear and take note of the tall blonde womans arrival.

Clegane and Bronn groaned. Tor sat up straight and looked towards the door expectantly.

Bri was Cats favourite. The woman was kneeling down to remove her boots, unasked, and Cat was looking around the diner at her male patrons as if to say 'See! that's how it's done!'. Bri was such a kiss-arse.

"It's nice to be here, Mrs Stark." Brienne smiled at diner owner as she straightened. She was very tall and brawny and her short sandy blonde hair was tidily swept back. Her face was chapped red from the wind and cold. She certainly wasn't a pretty woman but no one was about to say that to her face.

The two women embraced fondly and then Cat walked Bri over to Cleganes table, parading her though the diner like she was the 'model trucker', what they should all strive to be. They stopped table side.

"Gentlemen..." Bri greeted them amiably. Bronn and Tor responded warmly. She looked down at Clegane, who was poking reluctantly at his salad and ignoring her presence. "Shift, Dog!" She commanded, punching him lightly in the rock hard bicep.

Clegane grunted and shuffled over on the bench. Bri sat, pulling off her mittens (... mittens! Seven Hells!) and laying them tidily on the tabletop.

"Sunspears weather was definitely more pleasant than up here." Bri advised them as she stole a chip from Cleganes plate. He growled lowly at her, pulling his plate closer. "By the Gods Tor, you look like a briar patch and there's gravy in your beard..."

Clegane looked up quickly as Jeyne Poole came to their table with Bris regular hot chocolate and apple cinnamon muffin. His eyes caught Sansa standing by the door, a slim blonde boy helping her on with her heavy jacket. Cat was fussing with the collar and arranging Sansa hair against her shoulder. The boy had an ill-favoured look about him and he looked vaguely familiar. Clegane hated him.

From across the diner, he could not hear the soft conversation between mother and daughter but he watched unobtrusively from behind the stray strands of his lank hair. Cat kissed her daughter on the cheek and stepped back. The blonde wanker took Sansas arm and led her from the diner. Clegane watched the door close behind them... and watched... and watched. The door suddenly opened again.

"Boots, Howland!... For crying out loud!" Cat hollered.

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

It was nearing midnight as he leaned on the side of his truck, Stranger was lounging on the drivers seat, his head hanging from the seat and out of the open door as he watched the little flare from the smoldering end of Cleganes smoke. It was bitterly cold.

Clegane took a long draw from the whiskey bottle he'd bought earlier and watched his smoke lazily meander up towards the clear sky and winking stars. He could hear Tors loud snores emanating from the gingers sleep space. The prick was parked far enough away but his snoring was legendary.

He couldn't say why he was still awake, he had to head out early to make his drop at Castle Black and he had to be in Whitetree before sundown to check in at Lannister Oil and Golds Northern Office, before the trek up to Hardhome and the pipeline.

He huffed, sending a up cloud of steamy hot breath. He knew why he was awake. Midnight was her curfew.

He kicked absently at the gravel and snow for a while until, sure enough, there was a bright barrage of light from obnoxiously strong LED headlights, as a big black SUV pulled into the lot, rolling past the diner and stopping by the gate that led to Starks private residence out the back.

The doors stayed worryingly closed for a long while after the pretentious car had come to a halt. Clegane was half way though his second smoke and had tipped back a fair portion of his whiskey by the time the back door opened and the blonde wanker carefully stepped out. He handed her out of the car and walked her through the gate and out of sight. The prick had a private driver. Clegane ground his teeth together... waiting.

The gate swung open and the wanker strode back out. He got back in the car, ordering the driver arrogantly as the door closed and the car pulled away. Clegane spat on the ground as the car turned onto Winterfell Road.

He ran his hand tiredly over his scarred and now heavily stubbled face. One of the last and brightest sparks in his life had finally gone out. Sansa Stark had a boyfriend.


	2. Harsh Realities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I haven't been writing recently. Let's just say I had a minor mental heath issue and leave it at that :)

**Chapter 2 - Harsh Realities**

He was under absolutely no illusions when it came to the realities of his situation in life.

He was a thirty four year old, confirmed bachelor with no fixed abode. His life was transient but monotonous. He had a number of very unsavoury habits. He was ugly and scary to look at. In actuality, there was very little to recommend him to anyone of the fairer sex.

He did have good points. They could even be seen if one squinted really hard and ignored the detritus that surrounded and threatened to overwhelm them:

He was honest. Bluntly so sometimes... to the point of rudeness and incivility.

He was loyal. He'd been with Lannister Oil and Gold ever since he'd started his working life.

He loved his dog. Though he was damned sure it wasn't reciprocated... the ungrateful bastard!

He was pretty well off financially. With the exception of booze, smokes and Strangers upkeep, he had no expenditure. He lived in his truck and the company paid for fuel, food and sundries. Everything he made went into his Iron Bank savings account along with his share of inheritance from his mum and dads passing and he'd been saving since he'd started working. Cleganes were thrifty.

He'd also won a fair bit... In fights... that came under 'unsavoury habits' though and you were supposed to be looking past those.

He had friends. He had insisted to them on a number of occasions that they were NOT his friends, but they persisted in hanging out with him none the less. Whenever they were in the same place, (mostly in Wintertown and the Weirwood Eatery in particular) they were together, trading insults and light-hearted banter. Tor, Bronn and Bri were his mates. He may not see them too often but when he did, they lifted his spirits (he would deny that, to his grave, if pressed).

He sighed as he focused on the icy road ahead. Stranger sat straight backed on the passenger seat and peered out of the windscreen. Castle Black was coming up. He had a drop at Fort Nights Watch. Stranger liked it there. The soldiers played with him and gave him treats while the truck was being unloaded and he always seemed to know when the place was close by. Sansa Starks father and older brother were there.

General Eddard Stark ran the camp (with an iron fucking fist) and oversaw the defense of the entire North, from the Trident in the Northern Riverlands to the furthermost reaches Beyond the Wall. Robb Stark was some kind of distinguish young officer.

As seemed to be the tradition in all northern families, all of the male Starks (and probably the feral little wolf bitch, Arya) would follow the same career path. They were, or all would be, in the Military (except Brandon; the wheelchair bound, Stephen Hawking motherfucker, who was some kind of supergenius... he'd tried talking to Clegane about String Theory once. Clegane was forced to tell him to fuck off before his head imploded.) Even a mass of Stark uncles and cousins were abound at the military base.

Clegane cruised past the Welcome to Castle Black (Home of the Wondrous Wall) sign. Even though it had been replaced just recently, it was once again peppered with buck shot holes. Stranger stood up in his seat and began to wag his stub of a tail, while little happy whining sounds came from deep in his chest. Clegane glared at him out of the corner of his eye and took an angry drag from the cigarette wedged between his lips, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils like a petulant dragon. He turned off the main road to the township and slowed for the gates of the base, pulling to a halt at the guard hut.

A soldier came trudging out of the hut, bundled up to the eyeballs in winter kit and holding an AR15 close to his body.

"Hound." He was greeted casually as he slid his window down.

"Private Greyjoy."

"Dropping off or picking up?"

"Both."

Clegane handed down his ID lanyard and waited for it to be scanned in. Stranger clambered over him to hang out of the window, stomping (deliberately) right on Cleganes nuts. He grunted and pushed the dog back, only to be trod on again as Greyjoy returned, handing the lanyard back through the window and scratching at the idiot mutts velvety muzzle.

"Hey Boy," Stranger was always greeted with much more enthusiasm than Clegane ever was, "Jon and Ghost are on perimeter patrol, Mate, you won't see them 'til later on."

Pt. Greyjoy grinned at the dog and then turned a cold eye to Clegane. "No smoking on base." He proclaimed, waving him on dismissively.

FUCK!

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

He drifted into the Whitetree offices just after closing. Unloading and loading at Fort Nights Watch took much longer than it should have due to Stranger and Ghost getting in everyones way and distracting the soldiers with their playful bullshit.

He knew... HE JUST KNEW... the dizzy reception bitch wouldn't let him check in... HE KNEW IT!

He glared at her through the stubbornly locked glass doors, where she stood blinking stupidly back at him, her keys still in her hand.

"Sorry Mr Clegane... Computer's already logged out." She chirped through the glass with a vacant smile.

He snorted impatiently.

"The services are unlocked though." She added brightly, in a way the proclaimed that she was doing him a _huge_ favour by giving him access to the shitter overnight.

He sighed resignedly and turned away, stomping back through the snow, back to his truck feeling maudlin. He didn't have any booze left and the only hot food he had was pot noodles... a cheese toastie if he was motivated enough. There was a chippie nearby though, just down the road and Stranger would appreciate the walk.

He reached up to the cab door and wrenched it open, looking up at his dog who was sprawled across the front seat, exhausted after his hi jinx at Fort Nights Watch.

"Come on, Mutt."

Stranger lazily got to his feet, stretched longly, pointing each of his back toes one at a time, jumped down from the cab and circled Clegane as he locked up the truck, pulled his coat tighter around him and trudged off in search of dubious sustenance. He ploughed his way through the drifts that had piled up along the sidewalk with his faithful hound at his side.

It was bitterly cold and the stiff wind tore through Cleganes coat, even Stranger stayed close, hoping to garner some heat from his human.

It seemed an age but Clegane finally rounded the last corner... and stopped dead, his face screwing up in frustration. The chippie was closed.

FUCK!

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

It had been very slow going between Whitetree and Hardhome. The roads were all piled high with snow and even the ever present snowploughs travelled up and down the tarmac slowly and without stopping, trying to clear the way for the vital supply trucks that came and went.

Clegane was so keyed up with impatient frustration that his head was about to explode. He was a day behind; what with getting into Whitetree late and an unfortunate tyre blowout... He just wanted this trip to be done. He needed a drink, he needed to punch something... someone... anyone.

He stubbed out his smoke and intermediately lit another, drawing on it deeply and hissing the smoke out. He was thinking very seriously of getting out of the truck and walking... it would have been faster than the cunt driving the plough ahead of him.

He sat behind the wheel and fumed.

Hardhome was so close he could smell it. He literally could smell the shithole, even from this distance.

"Not long now, boy." He grumbled. Stranger didn't even raise his head to acknowledge the words.

The truck crawled passed the city limits sign. 'Welcome to Hardhome'. Someone had scrawled beneath it, in the fluorescent pink spray paint that they used on the pipeline, 'Now - Fuck Off'. It had been shot up pretty bad as well. What was it with Northerners shooting the signage?

The snowplough that was in front of him pulled off the road, as the towns streets were clearer (barely), and turned back. Clegane heaved a sigh of relief and made his way through town towards the Lannister offices on the road to the pipeline. It was still well before close and he could get his paperwork, get to site and do his drop well before dark. Leaving him plenty of time to drown his sorrows in that lethal but tasteless shit that they called booze up here.

In comparison to the rest of the town, the pipeline office of Lannister Oil and Gold was a palace; a modern, industrial chic block sitting in a snow drift in the arse end of the world. Clegane carefully parked up in the byway and jumped down onto the sidewalk. Some fuckers were blocking the whole entrance with a convoy of black SUV's, Fucking rude. Didn't they know some people worked for a living?

Clegane trudged around the vehicular blockade and shouldered his way into the warm reception foyer and slid to a rapid halt as he came face to face with his older brother, whose eyebrows rose when his realised whom he had just accosted.

"Well, Well, Little Sandy." Gregor rumbled with derision. Gregor was in a black suit. He had in an earpiece and was obviously carrying a holstered gun under his jacket. He sniffed dismissively down at his brother and looked over his shoulder at the rest of the entourage milling around in the foyer, "Can't let you through little man. Wait here."

He turned away without another word and lumbered back towards his party.

Gregor Clegane was head of security for Tywin Lannister, the Patriarch of the whole Lannister circus. So if Gregor was here, then Tywin was here doing one of his famous surprise inspections, no doubt. Sandor Clegane didn't mind Tywin Lannister. The man was obscenely wealthy but he still didn't mind getting his hands dirty. He knew every facet of his business right down to the names of his lowliest employees. He even knew Sandor Clegane, linehaul driver.

The rest of his family though. Were cunts.

Gregor moved his massive bulk to one side and the stately looking Tywin Lannister sauntered out from behind the reception desk where he had been chatting to Osha, the hardheaded, no-bullshit receptionist and the real power behind the pipeline. He caught sight of Clegane looming in the doorway where his brother had left him and wandered over, his hand extended.

Clegane didn't delay in taking the mans hand and shaking it firmly.

"Clegane the younger. How are you, son? A day late, is it?" Tywins tone was clipped and cultured but friendly enough, even with the light admonishment.

"Aye sir. Blow out." Clegane replied, rasping softly and respectfully in turn.

"Hmmm. I believe the phrase is 'shit happens'." Tywin smirked.

There was no real need to reply to that so Clegane just nodded.

"You need to meet my Grandson." Tywin continued, stepping aside to reveal said grandson. "I'm grooming him to take over."

Cleganes slate grey eyes went flat... and decidedly unfriendly in the face of the young, blond wanker who stepped forwards with an ill-concealed sneer on his face.

Sansa Stark was dating Tywin Fucking Lannisters, Fucking Grandson!

FUCK!

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

Clegane stared morosely across the bar at the wench in the glittery tank top

She had a face like a dropped pie and no tits to speak of but she _did_ have lustrous auburn hair that was almost the same shade and length as that of Sansa Starks

He pursed his lips in contemplation. He could take her from behind, his fingers digging into her hair... He could shout Sansas name as he came... The Wilding bint probably wouldn't care. She might have a decent shower at her place...

She sent a smile his way. She must have been pretty hard up if she was sending signals _his_ way.

He grunted in disgust. Not with her, but with himself. He couldn't do it. There was only one girl on his mind and if it weren't actually her beneath him, then he probably couldn't even get hard.

It was at that moment that someone jolted him from behind. His liquor splashed over the edge of the glass and splattered across the bar.

Finally!

In one movement he straightened to his full height and turned. He drew back his giant fist and smashed it into the temple of the unfortunate bastard who happened to make the wrong move at the wrong time. And then it was all on!

It was all going very well until a chair came out of left field and crashed into the back of his head.

FUCK!

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

He was roaring drunk by the time he stumbled up to his truck door. He had a mighty headache and a deep cut on the back of his head that would not stop bleeding. He could feel the eye on his scarred side swelling shut. _That_ would make a pretty picture in the harsh light of morning. He'd run out of smokes... Probably a good thing, if he fell asleep with a lit fag in his mouth, the cab would likely go up like a bonfire and that was definitely not the way he wanted to go.

He fumbled around his pockets for his keys.

He fumbled around the door for the lock.

He tried to climb up into the cab... That didn't go well... Never did the first try. He concentrated hard and hoisted himself upwards, over-shooting the mark and falling face first into the passenger side seat and he dragged the rest of his bulky self in behind him. He lay across the seats for a moment, his feet hanging out of the open door, trying to catch his breath and then he hauled himself up onto his hands and knees.

He crawled into the sleep space and pulled up short when he heard Strangers pissed off growl.

"Fuck off, you little shit." He slurred at the dog. "Don't judge me."

Stranger stood up from his position on the bed and walked over Cleganes back and flopped down on the passenger seat. From past experience, that is where he would stay, with his back to his master for the entire trip back to Castle Black.

Clegane was used to it and ignored the peevish pup. He instead maneuvered himself up onto his bed and lay there for a moment staring at the spinning ceiling.

This wasn't his finest night. He'd been out of sorts; thanks to seeing his brother, seeing that rich prick who was wooing _his girl_... seeing the long red hair on that tavern tart.

He sighed and ran a hand roughly over his face, wincing as his heavy palm found cuts and bruises galore.

What had he been thinking? That tarts hair was nothing like Sansas. Sansas hair was a deep, rich, burnished crimson. It was smooth like satin, sleek and glittery in the sunlight. It smelled like lemons and sugar. He could almost smell it now. He inhaled deeply with the memory. It made her perfect luminescent skin glow in contrast. And with those eyes...those bright, startlingly blue eyes that made even the clearest summer sky look dull. She was the epitome of perfection.

Clegane groaned longingly.

She had broken him the very moment that she had walked up his table in the diner. She'd been away at school until that day, some fancy prep school in the capital. Because she was smart, and cultured, and polite, and just generally sweet and gentle.

His Perfect Little Bird.

He groaned again as his booze-addled brain wandered to the subtle curves of her nubile, young body. He felt himself get hard as his minds eye wandered from the swell of her breasts, cupped lovingly in the tight white vee-neck tee shirt, with the Wierwood Eatery logo over her left nipple, a nipple that seemed perpetually budded in the perma-cold of the North down the dip of her tiny waist that he could easily wrap his giant mitts around and have his fingertips meet at the back, and around to that simply mouthwatering bum. He loved her bum, he could watch it sway around that diner for hours.

Yep, he was definitely hard.

With a sigh he unbuckled his belt and ripped down his fly to let loose the turgid beast that was threatening to burst out of his jeans all on its own. He gripped his cock firmly around the base and pumped up and down its length while images of his little bird danced behind his scrunched up eyelids. 

The way he could get a thorough eyeful of her cleavage when she bent down to clear the empty dishes, the way her hair glinted as she tossed it over her shoulder in a wave of fire, the way she bit her bottom lip as she wrote down his order, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled at Bronn or Tormund or Brienne... but never him.

He let out a drunken sob and tugged his cock harder and faster, chasing that empty release.

It was never going to be him.

FUCK!


	3. Fortuitous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see the usual suspects in the comment section. Good to see you guys. Thanks for the well wishes.

**Chapter 3 - Fortuitous**

He'd have to see a dentist when he got back to Casterley Rock... he was sure that his molar was cracked. While he'd made some good coin in that last fight, that Wildling fuck with the dodgy eye, hit really hard. Not hard enough to win, obviously.... but hard none the less.

His tongue worried at the offending tooth as his dog stared moodily out of the side window, his back resolutely to the cab, pissed off again at the rough state of his disreputable human. 

It was dark outside and a heavy flurry of snow had started to fall. Clegane was determined to make it to Wintertown tonight. It didn't matter what time he got in as long as he got a short sleep, a hot breakfast and a chance to ogle at the lovely Miss Sansa Stark. She was always at her most beautiful in the early morning sunlight with her hair blazing like the sunrise itself. He had wondered, frequently, what it would be like to wake up next to her and see her lazily blinking open those dazzling blue eyes in that light. He grunted at the thought. He would need a good wank before he went to sleep tonight.

He was just south of the Mole's Town when he saw a common occurrence on this road, at this time of year... A stranded vehicle in the shifting distance and he allowed a smug smirk to override his bruised face. 

Sitting there, in a deep drift on the gravel byway ahead, was a small, tidy grey lorry with Weirwood Eatery, 270 WinterFell Road, Wintertown emblazoned in red across the back. Catelyn Starks lorry... and there was a light coming from the drivers side window. It was wedged in too deep to be a casual stop... This might be his chance to wedge himself into her good graces for once, maybe even earn a favour... or a discount at the Starks liquor store. Surely rescuing a stranded lady warranted a bottle of good, reasonably aged whiskey. Clegane shifted down in anticipation.

He cruised to a stop, parking up behind the stricken vehicle and zipped up his jacket, pulling the woolly collar high. He crammed his beanie over his ears and slid out of the cab, into the nearly thigh deep drift. It was difficult to saunter cockily up to the window of the lorry, but he somehow managed to pull it off. He leaned against the door of the lorry and tapped against the window, trying to look concerned and solicitous but probably looking more gleeful, in all honesty.

He reared back from the lorry window when the pale face inside, illuminated by the glaring screen of a smart phone, suddenly jerked up and emitted a high-pitched scream of terror and he found himself looking down at the terrified, yet still unutterably beautiful face of Sansa Stark. That was not the Stark he was expecting.

She recovered quickly from her shock at his sudden appearance outside her window and her wide, tear-filled eyes scrambled over his shabby face taking in his familiar, though deeply marred features before she sobbed in relief and began yanking on the door handle, trying desperately to open it. The dull blue light from her cell phone made her pale and wraith-like, highlighting the tracks of her drying tears and the growing panic in her eyes as the door wouldn't budge even as she began ramming her shoulder against it. Clegane came forward once more, placing his giant palm on the window to get her attention.

"The door's locked, Little Bird." He called softly, his voice rumbling in the snow muffled night. "Unlock the door."

She stopped fighting with the door and looked up at him and blinking slowly, taking in what he was saying. She took a deep calming breath and clicked up the lock. The door flew open in a gust of wind and Clegane jumped back to avoid being hit by it.

In the next instant, he was in a position that he never dreamed, for one single second, that he would ever be in... EVER!

Sansa Stark had flown from the lorry in an urgent flurry of movement and struck Clegane full force in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards on the slippery and uneven ground. He hit the snow, and underlying gravel, with a muffled whomp and then wheezed as the girl of his dreams landed squarely on top of him. She began to sob again, burying her face in his neck and holding onto him for dear life. He could do nothing but wrap his arms around her back and squeeze her in return.

He could have lay in the freezing wastes of the north, buried in snow, for all eternity for all he cared. He could have died there and all would have been well. She was in his arms. She was on top of him, straddling him, her knees on either side of his narrow hips. Her sweet scent filled his sinuses for true. Her soft lips pressed to his neck as she weep in gratitude. He could feel her fingers tangling in the stray hairs at the back of his neck. 

Her fingers were really cold. She wasn't wearing any gloves... or a hat. His wide palms on the small of her back noted... finally, that she was only in a thin woolen jumper.

"Little Bird, You're okay now. I've got you." He muttered as gently as he could. "You're alright, but we need to get you out of the cold..."

He patted her awkwardly on the back of her head and when he got little in the way of response (other than a quiet sniffle), he staggered to his feet with his little bird held securely in his arms and carefully carried her to the passenger side of his truck.

"Move, you bastard." He grunted at Stranger as he wrenched open the door. The dog gave him a flat dismissive glare before sauntering back into the sleep space with his stubby tail in the air.

Once he'd deposited Sansa Stark in the seat and clambered back to the ground, he ran his hand over his mouth and took a deep steadying breath. Sansa Stark was in his cab. He'd held Sansa Stark in his arms. He was rescuing Sansa Stark!

He looked back up at her as she huddled in the cab and clicked the door closed with a nervous clearing of the throat. He ploughed his way back to the lorry, plucked the keys from the ignition, her cell from the floor and secured the door. He returned to his truck and hoisted himself up with a wince. He might have bruised his hip when she'd knocked him down. Totally worth it.

He settled into his seat and started up the rig, taking the time to adjust the heating, sending a full blast of hot air in his passengers direction. He tried not to look at her. He knew if he looked at her he wouldn't be able to look away again, so he stared resolutely out of the front windscreen and he pulled back out into the roadway and continued his journey to Wintertown.

She got over her bout of relieved weeping relatively quickly and sat in silence as they set off. She wiped the dried tears from her cheeks and sniffed. She smoothed her hands over her slightly disheveled hair and rubbed her upper arms, though she couldn't have been cold with the dry heat pummeling her from the dash. She began to tangle and untangle her fingers together on her lap and Clegane risked a glance over at her. He sighed inwardly... It seemed the relief at seeing a familiar face had worn off. She was obviously nervous about being alone in his presence.

They sat in an uncomfortable hush for quite sometime before Sansa shifted slightly in her seat, leaned sideways and pulled something out from under her bum. She uncreased the magazine that she'd previously been sitting on... and gasped.

Cleganes eyes flicked over towards her again and he gave a choked cry, reaching over and ripping the magazine from her grasp and tossing it back into the sleep space. Stranger yelped as the rogue projectile sailed by, hitting the back wall with force and flomping down onto the bed.

Cleganes cheeks burned darkly and he gripped back onto the steering wheel with white knuckles, glaring fiercely out of the windscreen into the swirling snow.

Of all the fucking magazines...

... It _had_ to be 'Anal Angels'...

... _Of course_ it did.

Now the stillness was actually painful. Clegane wanted to stop the truck, open the door and just walk out into the frozen wastes...

A light breathy giggle suddenly permeated the stifling air and Clegane wrenched his tortured eyes towards the beautiful red head in the corner of his truck.

She was pressed up against the door, her small, delicate hand over her upturned lips. Her eyes were still tear-reddened but now sparkling with suppressed mirth. She couldn't hold in the sweet, little embarrassed giggle that escaped from her for a second time and her cheeks flushed rosily.

Clegane wanted to close his eyes and shut out the world... not a good idea when one was driving in very suspect weather and hauling a massive road train. He pressed his lips together and glowered at the windscreen again, his nostrils flaring and his face uncomfortably hot.

"I'm sorry, Mr Clegane." She whispered softly, surprising him. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Clegane rolled his eyes to the shifting skies.

"Oh shut up, Little Bird." He growled. "You're not the one leaving porn littered around the place."

She giggled again.

He humpfed and cleared his throat as the quiet descended again.

It was slow going and time really did stretch itself to the limit. Sansa had relaxed into her seat, leaning against the door and gazing out at the white blanketed world and soft melodic hum in her throat. Clegane kept sneaking little glaces in her direction. She suddenly sat up and moaned. Cleganes heart stopped at the sexy sound. 

"Oh no, I left my phone in the lorry." Sansa cried, trying to look back the way they had come hopefully.

"You're good, Little Bird." Clegane replied raspily, tossing her cell into her lap with her mothers keys. She made a happy sound. "You should call your mum when you get a bar."

"I was trying to call." She muttered, lighting up her screen. "I didn't know there was no coverage out here."

He answered with a grunt. "Nothing between the Gift and New Gift. The weather stops them from putting up a tower." 

"Oh." She whispered softly.

"Not long now." He rasped "You should be good at the turn off for Last Hearth."

She didn't reply, just stared hopefully at her phone.

Another long stretch of uncomfortable silence later and she made a happy little chirp and started tapping at her phone.

"... Mum? Yes, Yes I'm okay, the lorry broke down and I couldn't call..."

Clegane kept his eyes forward, pretending that he wasn't listening.

"No one stopped and I got scared when it starting getting dark, but Mr Clegane stopped ... yes, Mr Clegane..."

Eyes forward Clegane!

"Uummmm?... N-no?... What?!... MUM! NO!..."

What the fuck was Cat Stark saying??

"Ummmm... We just went over the Last Bridge, so we won't be in until late... 'kay... Love you."

He risked a glance at her as she disconnected her call. Her head was bowed and her cheeks were pink, her long hair was falling over her face in silken skeins and she was nibbling on her lip. She peeked up at him and looked away again quickly.

"Thank you for helping me, Mr Clegane." Her voice was so soft that he almost missed it.

He made another grunting sound of acknowledgment... Good work, Dog! She'll think you can only communicate in animal sounds.

He patted at his pockets as he drove and found his packet of Marlboros for something to do. He pulled a stick out and shoved it between his lips and clicked in the cigarette lighter on the dash. His eyes shifted to his passenger and he noted the little wrinkle in her nose and tiny frown lines at her brow. He sighed softly and took the smoke out of his mouth, shoving it back into the pack.

A second later the lighter clicked out. It was going to be a long trip.

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

It was beyond late when he rolled his rig into his normal spot in the parking lot of The Weirwood Eatery. He would have to be creative with his log book about the amount of time he'd spent driving.

He rubbed furiously at his eye sockets and turned in his seat to look over at his passenger one last time.

She'd fallen asleep while they were passing Long Lake. He'd struggled to keep his eyes on the icy road since. She looked like an angel; her face was smooth and relaxed, her long dark lashes brushed at her cheeks, her lips had parted as she breathed softly. Her head rested gently against the misty glass.

But it was over now.

He reached out a huge clumsy looking mitt and touched her shoulder.

Her jewel-like eyes blinked open sleepily, bright and beautiful, just like he'd dreamed they would, before they widened and she sat up straight with a jolt.

"Oh." She gasped, looking around, trying to orientate herself. "Oh... We're home."

She huffed out a nervous laugh and scrambled around trying to get herself together. She picked up her phone and the keys to the lorry and held them tight in her fingertips as she look up at him, not quite making eye contact, looking slightly over his shoulder instead, with her face blooming with a blush again.

"You have no idea how grateful I am, Mr Clegane." She murmured, dropping her eyes to her lap.

"How 'bout I get a song from you one day as recompense, aye?" He rumbled back, before realising that probably sounded creepy.

She giggled and blushed even more deeply.

"When is your Nameday?" She asked. "I will sing for you then, gladly."

"Been and gone, Little Bird." He grimaced at the truth of it.

"Oh..." She sounded a little disappointed. "Well, maybe..." She moved in her seat and leaned in towards him.

Clegane turned his head in question, just in time to catch the soft touch of her lips right on his own. The little peck meant for his cheek gone awry.

Sansa Stark froze, her eyes widening and her lips still touching his... Time dragged. Oh Gods, did it drag...

Clegane was absolutely certain he had died.... Or, he was sleeping and this was a vivid dream... Maybe a coma...? Because after moment of stunned silence, Sansa Starks delicate little hand came up to his scarred cheek and her petal-like lips moved sensually across his. 

SHE WAS KISSING HIM!!!

And then she wasn't.

She drew back with a gasp, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, to cover the lips that were just kissing him. She made a .... squeak?... groped for the door handle behind her.. and then she was gone, the door swinging in the cold air.

Clegane sat there for a very long time with wide eyes and a racing heart.

What the FUCK just happened?


	4. We Can Be Heroes

**Chapter 4 - We Can Be Heroes**

He had not been back since that morning.

He'd wandered into the diner at first light that morning, a twitch in his scarred cheek and his eyes as wild as a winter storm. He hadn't slept a single wink between the moment that she had flown out of the truck cab to the moment he tugged off his boots and tossed them negligently by the door without even being prompted to. 

She hadn't waited on his table. She hadn't been there at all.

None of his _friends_ were there that morning either. So he sat morosely, all by himself, in the corner with his back to the wall, with Jeyne Poole tip-toeing to fill his order and then running away again as fast as her little mouse feet could carry her.

He knew what that meant. He was not stupid.

He'd eaten quickly, taken a coffee to go and, after letting Stranger out for a shit, he left without a backwards glance... though, his memory kept him very solidly in the parking lot of The Weirwood Eatery, in the early morning darkness with Sansa Starks lips on his and her tiny hand pressed to his cheek. The Wank Bank was properly full.

There was a faint, lingering scent of lemons and sugar in is cab for a while... it didn't last very long under the unrelenting onslaught of 'dog and man' stink. He thought fleetingly about buying one of those plug in air freshener thingees that smelled like lemons but dismissed the idea right away as a nounces plan.

He was dying for a smoke.

He drove right through Wintertown the next time... and drove through again on the way back.

He was such a loser.

He might have driven through yet again if it hadn't been for Bronn Blackwater and his gossipy, bitch mouth.

They'd run into each other in Moat Cailin. Bronn was slouching casually against his truck in the chill early morning, watching a forklift load pallet after pallet into the curtain sider on the back of his rig. He was alternating between picking his teeth and then his nails with what looked like a switchblade.

Clegane wandered over and leaned up next to him. Bronn offered him a smoke. Clegane shook his head and jammed his hands in his pockets.

"You drove through last week" Bronn observed casually, snorting smoke out through his nostrils.

"I was busy." Clegane muttered in return, trying to inhale second hand smoke unobtrusively.

"So," A sly smirk twisted Bronns face "Nothing to do with you spending the night with the delectable Miss Stark then?"

"The FUCK?" Clegane all but exploded, he whirled on Bronn, taking fists full of the much smaller mans jacket. 

Bronn was unperturbed by the sudden rough treatment and took a healthy draw from his smoke around Cleganes ropey forearms.

"She asked about you last week..." Bronn grinned, "Said she had a 'thank you' gift... That good, are you?"

Clegane glared down at his 'friend'. "I gave her a ride." He snarled.

"I bet you did..."

Clegane growled deep in his chest and leaned in close, tilting his head so his scars were more prominent.

Bronn held up his hands in surrender and murmured a sorry, though the slick grin didn't slip for a second.

"So, you'll stop tonight, yeah?" 

Clegane shrugged and released him. "S'pose."

If she'd gotten him a gift, it would be rude to not collect.

The two truckers stood in the kind of silence that men stood in from time to time, watching the trucks being loaded while Stranger meandered his way around the load site, sniffing and pissing on things he considered worthy of him.

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

The two trucks pulled into the parking lot one after the other. Clegane took his usual spot. Bronn, annoyingly, pulled up right behind him instead of buggering off to his own space.

Bronn met him at his cab door.

"Felt good, eh," Bronn said brightly, "Needed one more big rig and we'd have had a convoy."

He was in an infuriatingly good mood as he made his way towards the Eatery with Clegane glowering in his wake.

"We've got ourselves a Con-VOY!" Bronn growled as he sauntered up to the diners door in front of Clegane. He started to croon " _'Cause we got a great big convoy, rockin' through the night..._ "

Clegane sneered and shoved Bronn through the door. Bronn stumbled to an abrupt stop, looking down into the glaring cold eyes of Catelyn Stark. Bronn grinned winningly. 

"Catelyn..." He lifted her unwilling hand to his lips. "When am I going to tempt you away from that husband of yours?"

She extracted her hand from his before his lips could touch her. 

"Death first! Take your filthy boots off." She stated with all the warmth of an industrial freezer.

Clegane toed off his boots, chucked them to the side and stomped passed the two of them. Stomping lost some of its impact when one had holey socks on. He slid into the booth opposite Bri and glared at the table top.

"What's crawled up your arse?" Brienne inquired after a moment of tense silence, taking a healthy bite of her muffin.

Clegane just glowered at her. She smirked and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

"Where've you been?" She asked. "Tor said he saw you sail passed Wintertown a week back... you didn't even flip him off. You alright?"

He grunted shortly, saved (sort of) by Bronn squeezing Bri over so he could sit.

"Is it anything to do with Sansa?" Brienne smiled and waggled her eyebrows as she shoved Bronn out of her personal space.

"Fuck off." Clegane snarked softly. Was everyone talking about it?

There was a flurry of soft footsteps nearing the table and Clegane looked up hopefully. His face visibly fell at the sight of the visitor. 

"Nice to see you too," Arya Stark spat sarcastically at his dispirited look. "Gimme your keys, I'll walk Stranger."

Clegane sniffed, wrangled the keys out of his pocket and slapped them into the girls waiting hand and she was gone as fast as she'd arrived.

He looked up again a moment later when an empty coffee cup was placed delicately in front of him and the warm rich smell of freshly poured coffee filled his nostrils along with the sweet, sweet smell of lemons and sugar.

"Good Evening, Mr Clegane... Bronn." Her voice was so soft it could barely be called a whisper. Her eyes were downcast and her cheeks were blooming. Her fiery hair was up in a high ponytail... Was she wearing make-up?

Bronn was talking to her, He didn't hear it. Briennes eyes were moving from Sansa to Clegane and back again, He didn't see it. He only saw her and the slick pink sheen on her lips. 

He wanted to get up and kick his own arse. He'd tasted those lips... or rather, he could have. She had kissed him and he'd done nothing but sit there like a flaccid cock.

He realised then that he was staring at her... Bronn and Bri were staring at him with exasperated looks on their faces. Sansa was staring at her pad intently, waiting for his order... How long had it been since she'd asked him for it?

Was he even hungry? Yes, but you can be damned sure it wasn't for steak and chips.

"Steak and Chips." He managed to croak out after an abominably long and mortifying bout of creepy staring.

Bri and Bronn sniggered quietly as Sansa sped off across the diner. Clegane snarled at them. He knew some really dark places where their bodies would never be found.

As he brooded and tried to burn a hole in the table with his glare, a group of young, preppy bucks barreled into the diner. They weren't the normal, working class clientele that frequented the place, that was for sure. They were arrogantly loud and took a booth directly across the diner from the regulars. Clegane ignored them in favour of chugging his hot coffee. That is, until there was a bit of a ruckus.

Sansa was their waitress and a cocky cunt in a pink polo shirt seemed to know her... The conversation was too quiet to hear from his seat, but Sansa left in an embarrassed huff with a cacophony of hoots and laughter following her.

Clegane watched her go and then turned a baleful eye on the table. One of the young bucks saw him watching and hushed his mates. They all looked over at the nearly seven foot tall trucker in the corner and then hush they did.

Sansa returned to his table with his steak.

"Alright there, little bird?" He rasped softly before she rushed away again.

"Yes sir. Thank you for your concern." She muttered formally... and then rushed away.

Bronn snorted. Clegane glared at him and aggressively stabbed his steak. Bri and Bronn sniped at each other for while. Bronns food turned up but Sansa kept her eyes lowered and gave only the briefest of smiles.

Clegane continued his dinner in silence, trying to block out the world.

Another commotion started up across the diner and the group of young men laughed boisterously. This time though, Sansa Starks pained squeal accompanied it. 

Cleganes head snapped up and he took in the tableau lain before his furious eyes in a moment. One of the fuckers _had his hands on her_. He had one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her trapped against him, his other hand squeezing her bum with bruising force. Clegane was out of his seat like a rocket and across the diner before anyone else could react. He tore Sansa from the cunts arms, lifted the fucker up by his throat and slammed him into the wall. He drew back his massive, wrecking ball of a fist and...

"SANDOR CLEGANE!"

Catelyn Starks voice rang out across the diner. The woman had some mighty lungs on her when she wanted to use them. Clegane had frozen in the loaded and cocked position. The pricks feet dangled in space and his face was rapidly darkening to a ruddy purple colour.

Clegane turned his head to meet the landladys eye. Catelyn Stark was standing tall beside him, a few feet away with her arm around Sansas shoulders. Sansas head was bowed and she was rubbing vigorously at her bottom. 

Catelyn lifted her head high. "Not _Inside_." She said shortly before turning and leading Sansa away.

Clegane grinned evilly and turned his horrendously scarred face back to the squirming piss-stain hanging from his grasp.

"Want any help?" Bronn had slouched over and was looking over the table with open contempt, at the four other pitiful (and now very quiet) little scrote-bags who were about to get a beating.

"Don't need it." Clegane growled, lowering his prey to the floor and dragging him by the neck towards the door.

"Didn't say you did," Bronn continued conversationally as Clegane walked away, "I'm helping anyhow..."

The four little men shrank back as Brienne also appeared by the table and glared down at them.

"You can get up and walk out," Bri offered coldly "Or we can drag you out... Your choice."

"Y-you can't touch us, we didn't do anything." The bravest amongst them piped up with false bravado. "We'll call the sheriff."

Bronn chuckled darkly. "Sheriff's right there, boys." 

Sheriff Tarly looked up from his soup, from a couple of tables over and smiled benignly.

"Dragging it is then." Brienne reached down and unceremoniously lifted two of the unwelcome sods out of their seats by the scruffs of their necks.

Tormund walked in as the four men were being escorted (dragged) outside.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"These guys were hassling Sansa." Bronn supplied as he trooped past.

"Fuck... Are there any more?" Tor implored hopefully, looking around the diner for more potential offenders. 

"Nope." 

"Can I have one of yours?" He asked as he followed them out.

"Nope."

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

Most of the time, beating the crap out of someone who could barely fight back, was unsatisfying. 

Today, it felt okay. It felt justified. Okay and justified enough to indulge in a bottle of Pinot Noir from finest vineyards in Dorne... or at least, from the Starks off-licence up the road.

He lay back on his bed, listening to Stranger have a dream that involved him yipping like a puppy and twitching his paws like he was running (and the distant rumble of Tormunds snoring).

It was very late and he was still ruminating on his interactions with Sansa Stark. She had looked very pretty today but she seemed even less inclined to associate with him than ever before. He'd come to her aid again, that had to count for something. Did dishing out a mild beating to a preppy douchebag in a pink polo shirt classify him as a hero? The guy didn't even bleed so, maybe not.

He solemnly drained the contents of his _'I love my dog! YOU can fuck off.'_ coffee mug and topped it up again with the rich blood red wine and took another thoughtful sip.

He needed to get over his obsession with the Stark girl. She was in completely different league from him; She was a beautiful, educated, well mannered young lady. He was a mildly alcoholic, bad tempered, scarred up, ugly old dog.

He was alot older then her. He grimaced. Sixteen years older... 

Clegane heard a soft tapping on his drivers side door and sat up quickly, almost spilling his beverage. Stranger leapt to his feet with a surprised bark, though he didn't go full-on mental like he normally would when shocked out of sleep and faced with an intruder.

"What?" Clegane yelled irritably, straining to hear the reply... which was very soft indeed.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr Clegane..."

Little Bird???

He shot off his bed like he was on a spring and sent wild eyes around his sleep space. No Porn in sight??? No, we're good! Anything else that could otherwise be considered offensive??? Panicked eyes shot around the tiny space. What did young ladies find offensive??? FUCK!

He scrambled over his seats, sending Stranger scampering over to the passenger seat with a very offended look and pushed his door open. Sure enough, standing in a sludgy puddle below him was Sansa Stark, looking up at him with wide eyes and dressed in only a pair of jeans and her work tee shirt. Did the girl not own weather appropriate clothes?

"Little Bird?" He rasped, swearing internally when he belatedly figured out he was as scruffy as fuck and only in his underwear and vest.

Sansa gulped as she looked up at him, her throat bobbing conspicuously with nerves.

"I... ahhh..." She stammered, "I wanted to give you this..." She stretched up her hand, which was shaking quite noticeably and clutching a brightly wrapped present... with a ribbon. "... For helping me."

Clegane eyed the gift warily. "You didn't have to do that." He growled.

"I wanted to." She replied quickly. "It's not much..." She blushed rosily "A-a stupid little kiss hardly makes up for the fact you may have saved my life."

Clegane stared down at her for way too long, long enough to realise that she had started to shiver and he still hadn't taken the little gift from her.

"You wanna come up?" He blurted, and then resisted closing his eyes and slamming his head into the windscreen.

"Okay."

WHAT?

He shuffled himself over awkwardly and watched in wide eyed wonder as she hoisted herself up into his cab.

Now what? Uummmm.... He'd never had a guest in his sleep space before. What did one do exactly? Offer her a drink?... Good Plan!

He backed into his sleep space and picked up his mug.

"You want one?" He turned when he had space, lifted his mug and showed it to her over his shoulder.

"No, thank you." She replied softly.

FUCK! Now what? She needed to sit. He yanked on the lever that held the passenger seat in place and spun it towards the sleep space. Stranger looked at him in surprise.

"Move."

The grumpy dog was getting mighty tired of being shunted around the place, he reluctantly relinquished his seat and Sansa negotiated her way over and perched carefully on the edge of the seat. The dog flopped down on the drivers seat with his back to everyone.

Clegane sat down on his bed and looked at Sansa. Here she was again. Shit, this place was small.

Sansa had her head down and was picking at the cellotape on the present that she still held in her hands.

"Um... here." She held the gift out to him again.

Clegane reached out and took hold of the gift. It was wrapped in blue paper with yellow balloons on strings all over it and then a glittery white ribbon, prettily tied into a clever bow. He didn't want to unwrap it, it was the nicest thing he'd ever received as it was. But, he tugged on the ribbon, glancing up at her as he did. Her bottom lip was caught in her teeth, her eyes fixed on his hands. He carefully laid the ribbon aside and ripped open the paper, to find a mound of knitted black wool. He unrolled the wool and found a pair of hand knitted socks, with little yellow trucks embroidered around the top. Held up one in each hand and looked over at Sansa.

"Did... Did you make these yourself, little bird?"

Sansa dipped her head, her face was flaming red, but she nodded shortly. "You had a hole in yours..." It was whispered. "It's not much but..."

Clegane set the socks aside and reached across the void between them. Her fingers were tangled together in a tight knot but he extracted one hand and held it gently in his own giant paw. He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"Thank you, Sansa." He said a little scratchily. "They're very fine."

She looked up at him and, for one of the few times ever, her eyes met his. She smiled shyly, making her brilliant blues sparkle like sapphires. Clegane didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Sansas eyes zeroed in on the spot.

The very corner of his mouth where the scar tissue merged with the slightly chapped skin of his lips.

The next thing Clegane knew, there was a beautiful red head in his lap, latched onto his lips like he was her oxygen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember I start these things with no plan... no outline, not notes... nothing.  
> All suggestions are considered and casually dismissed.  
> I also have no beta, so if you see an error, don't hesitate to point it out and I will fix it.
> 
> Cheers


	5. Positive Developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Another Chapter. 
> 
> (Rating has changed. Also, please remember not my favourite thing to write... be kind)

**Chapter 5 - Positive Developments**

There comes a time in every mans life where he reaches a turning point. A defining moment of clarity that has the potential to shape the future in which one was heading and flip it completely on its head.

Sandor Clegane, thirty four year old bachelor and grouchy recluse, had reached that moment.

The moment came at the stroke of midnight on a chill but fine evening in the parking lot of The Weirwood Eatery, on Winterfell Road in Wintertown. 

He didn't know what to do with his hands. Should he latch onto her like he planned to never let her go ever again? Or should he continue to sit like a twatting knob-end with his fists clutching onto his sheets like they were the only thing keeping him from floating to the ceiling?

He was kissing her back. That much was certain... or at least his lips were moving. On autopilot. He was still too much in shock to unravel what was actually happening.

Sansa Stark was sitting in his lap. Check. Sansa Stark had her arms looped around his broad shoulders, clutching him close to her. Check. Sansa Starks lips were on his, moving sensuously against him with her eyes clenched tightly closed. Check.

For all intents and purposes, this was a positive development. He just needed to kickstart his fucking stupid brain to respond in an equally positive way. Hells, he just needed to respond. Full Stop.

Tentatively, his fist unfurled from amongst his bed clothes and rose slowly. His wide, rough palm came to rest against the incredible softness of her cheek. She made a soft sound approval against his lips and he groaned as he felt her hot little tongue sweep across his bottom lip. She shuffled herself forwards on his lap and pressed against what could only be described as the hardest hard-on that he'd ever experienced. There was no hiding that. Not when it was about to pop out of his boxer briefs and seek her out all by itself.

He could only assume, by her lack of ... well, running for the fucking hills, that she was actually quite into this... What ever this was. Was he about to have sex with the girl of his dreams? Was this actually happening? He'd better check.

He carefully broke the kiss and eased back from her... and then he was looking into her glorious eyes. They were dark and liquid as they bored into his and he almost lost the power of speech.

"Little Bird...?" He rasped, his voice even more gravelly than usual in his rather obvious arousal. "What...?"

Her fingertips were suddenly over his mouth halting his already hesitant words.

"Shhh." Her voice was a whisper, but deeper and more rich that normal. "Please don't stop me... I don't think I'll ever get the courage up again."

He blinked at her. Was he missing something? "Courage?"

She nodded, her fingers tracing over his lips from the edge of his burns and along, slipping the tip of her pointer finger inside his slack mouth. "The courage to go after what I want."

He blinked at her yet again... What she wants? Did that imply that _HE_ was what she wanted?

"Me?" He was dumbfounded. He was a reasonably intelligent guy, not a genius obviously but this was an equation that just didn't add up. Sansa Stark: Eighteen years old, Private school graduate. More beautiful than any woman in any part of any world, wanted him. Sandor Clegane: Thirty four years old, Barely civilised trucker, Half his face melted off...

"Hhmmm..." She hummed and then she was kissing him again.

There was some proverb about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. He didn't really care much for horses but he was damned well going to follow where ever she was going to lead him. He might be mixing up his proverbs again...

... Whatever. It was time to take a less passive role in all of this. By his thinking, he'd only get one shot and he was going to make damned sure that it was the best fucking shot that he had in him.

The hand on Sansas cheek crept up into her hair, dragging through the fiery locks and holding fast, tilting her head to one side and diving right into the kiss with all of the passion that he could muster. His other hand finally relinquished the hold on his sheets and ran over her hip, dipping into her waist and around to the small of her back, pulling her tightly into him.

The small sleep space was not really built for this sort of carry on but he somehow managed to lift her, turn and lay her down carefully on his bed without banging his nor her head on any of the fixtures. She not only approved of the quick change of locations, her nimble fingers picked at the hem of his vest, urging it up his torso. He separated away from her quickly and yanked it up over his head, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the dash. Sansa caught her breath as she looked up at him, her wide eyes roaming across his massive chest and hulking shoulders, down over his bumpy abdominals and further down to the quite big protuberance in his boxer briefs. Her eyes whipped back up to his and her tongue slid over her bottom lip. FUCK!

He swooped back down to her, clashing with her lips and clambering carefully over the top of her slight form, keeping all of his not inconsiderable weight on his elbows and knees. Her small hands seemed to be everywhere, racing over every inch of his exposed skin, ploughing through his chest hair, tweaking his nipples and grabbing handfuls of his buttocks. She was still fully clothed and he wanted very much to tear the offending fabric from her, but this was her show and there was no way he would endanger the position he was in by stepping it up too far, too fast. 

Sansa Stark however, was on a roll, and of the same mindset as Clegane. Her hands left his body long enough to shimmy her tee shirt up her body, they parted long enough for her to whip it off and deftly fling away her bra as well.

Clegane had wanked while picturing these breasts in his mind (while demurely covered) and the reality of them in full living colour was something else. He placed one large palm over one, the pebbled nipple at the apex pressed back against his heartline while his mouth beelined for the other, enveloping it and lathing it with his tongue.

He almost leapt right out of his skin when he felt her hand dip inside his underwear and take a firm hold of his cock, her dainty fingers wrapped tightly around his girth and proceeded to slowly pump him in a sultry rhythm. He detached himself from her nipple and first, looked down to where her hand disappeared into his boxer briefs and then, up to see her looking right back at him with half lidded eyes. He eased himself back and sat back on his heels. He glanced at the button fly of her jeans and back up at her with his good eyebrow raised in question. 

Her breath seemed to hitch, her teeth trapped her kiss swollen bottom lip and she nodded jerkily. Her fist briefly tightened on his cock and he had to close his eyes for a moment to concentrate on not coming like a fountain all over her hand. In his defense, it had been a while...

When he had regained some form of self control (with a quick mental study of Bronn and Tor involved in a heavy make-out session that had the power to kill his boner dead in any other situation), he made quick work of unbuttoning Sansas jeans. She lifted her hips and allowed him to relieve her of them and the pretty pink knickers underneath.

He dropped them on the floor and stared down at her. What in the name of _all_ of the fucking Gods was going on? How was she here? How was she this Fucking Perfect?

Everything about her, especially in this moment was beyond exquisite. From her hair, glinting in the soft light as it splayed across his hard pillow, down past a lust-flushed face that he had never even dared hope would be turned towards him, down again over the subtle curves of her lush young body, all pale, satin fine skin, tinged with a rosy blush. He suddenly didn't know what to do? He had been struck immobile.

Sansa was not immobile, she was very much mobile... She sensed his hesitation and took charge yet again. She sat up and, keeping her eyes glued to his, pulled his underwear down slowly, easing the fabric over his erection and urging him softly to sit up so that she could move them down his thighs. It was then that she got a good look at his cock. Feeling something blind was very different from meeting it head on (so to speak).

He felt a little bit smug when she sat back from him suddenly, her eyes wide and her mouth open in wonder. He was almost seven feet tall, he was built like a brick shit house and that also translated into the size of his cock. He was a big lad all over.

And then he got worried... What if it was too big? What if he'd just scared her out of a shag? What if his own cock had just cock-blocked him?

Once again, he needn't have worried, Sansa Stark was not about to back down from this challenge. In fact, he found himself groaning loudly when her mouth descended on him. There was no preamble, she just went down, took him in as far as he would go and then drew back with her lips wrapped tightly around him. 

Nope. No... He couldn't let that go on for too long. He wanted to come in her mouth about as much as he had wanted to come in her hand.

He gently tangled his thick fingers in her hair and carefully tugged her head away from his cock. She looked up at him with dewy eyes and plumped up lips and he couldn't help but groan again. She seemed to understand though and slowly lay back down, she spread her legs a little wider and lifted her arms up to him welcoming him aboard (so to speak). 

He moved up over her, planting one of his fists on the pillow by the side of her head, he kissed her hard and let the other hand slide down her body to find the manicured wisp of hair covering her quim. A little lower and he felt the entrance to heaven itself, hot and much more wet than he would have ever believed. For him.

She moaned and tilted her pelvis, pressing him further into her slick folds. He really had no choice but to plunge one of his fingers into her tight channel and begin to use his thumb to tease her clit. She sighed and rolled her hips. He really had no choice but to work another finger deep into her and thrust and scissor the way clear for him to enter her for true.

His heart nearly leapt from his chest when her breathy sighs formed words. 

"Sandor." She sighed.

FUCK! I mean, really... FUCK!!

Clegane stared at her. That was his name. His _actual_ name.

She was gazing back up at him. "Don't make me wait." She whispered. 

And then it hit him. Hit him like a road train. He didn't have any condoms.

FUUUUCK!!

"Whats wrong?" She was looking up at him with concern, a small wrinkle in her brow. "Did... did I do something...?"

He'd obviously stopped what he was doing... He may have looked furious...

"No, Little Bird," He growled with frustration. "I've just... not got any... protection."

"Oh," She giggled, sounding relieved, "Back pocket of my jeans."

What now?

He dove for her discarded jeans and sure enough in the back pocket with an embroidered daisy on it, was a single foil wrapped condom... it was like finding treasure. He looked back at her, reclining and gloriously spread across his little bed with a small smile on her lips.

It was the labour of but a moment to tear open the foil and slide the latex glove over his erection and then he was between her luxuriant thighs once more, nudging at her entrance with the blunt end of his cock. He looked into her blue eyes, just to be sure and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged him closer. 

"Yesss." She hissed, as he slid inside of her.

She took him all, his tip just touching on her barrier and he was most assuredly in one of the seven heavens.

"Fucking Hells, Little Bird." He groaned. "This won't take long. You feel too good." 

"I don't care." She whimpered, gyrating her hips and almost making him lose his load right then and there. "Just go." 

And he did as instructed. He pulled back and plunged right back in, his head spinning with the sound of her sharp ecstatic cry. 

So he did it again... and again, until he was thrusting into her hard and fast, much more forcefully than he had intended. She was matching him though, thrust for thrust and moan for moan.

As anticipated, he would not last. Especially not with her body tensing and tightening around him, not with her fingernails digging into his shoulders and not with her lips seeking his and her tongue venturing into his mouth to do war with his.

Her back arched under him and he was done. His balls drew up, his cock swelled and he burst into the latex sheath surrounding him.

Fuck! No! She wasn't finished. He'd fucked it up.

He pulled himself back from her and desperately attacked her clit with his fingers, praying to anyone who was listening. 

A prayer answered moments later when she went rigid under him, threw her head back and keened. He could feel her channel clenching onto his softening cock and he watched her in awe as she came undone around him. 

*##*##*##*##*##*##*##*

He'd overslept, there was way too much light in the cab for it to be early. He should probably be on the road by now.

There was something warm and entirely delectable draped across his body. Something soft and silky and something that smelled like lemons and sugar. He eased his eyes open and looked down at his chest where the something lay, her hair splayed across his body in a sheet of fire. His arm was across her back, securing her lithe body against his. He hummed contentedly. His Little Bird.

Clegane let his eyes wander about his little sleep space and saw Stranger watching him, his muzzle resting on the back of the drivers seat which also, notably, had the little birds bra hanging from it. To be more accurate Stranger was glaring. He'd been stuck in the cab all night. He probably wanted out to take a leak and a dump... he was probably hungry too. Clegane glared right back.

"If you think for one second that I'm waking her... you are living in fucking Fantasyland, Mutt." He rumbled softly.

The dog snorted, turned away and flopped back down onto the seat petulantly.

She stirred against him, stretching out her legs and pointing her toes, elongating her spine and arching into the stretch. The movements caused her to slide against his body and drew a deep groan from his chest and a swelling in his groin. She turned her head with a sigh, burrowing her nose into his chest hair and breathing in his musky scent (which, if he were to be honest, might not have been the best, he hadn't showered since Moat Cailin). She slowly raised her face to look up at him, blinking open her eyes sleepily... and Sandor Clegane died a hundred times over. It was all he had ever dreamed it would be. Her eyes were truly precious, glimmering jewels and to see them so slumber drunk and satiated because of him, was worth every single moment of his miserable life... Burns, beatings and all.

She smiled sweetly, the morning sun shining in through the cab glinting off her fiery hair and adding a golden glow to her blushing cheeks.

"Mornin'." She slurred softly, resting her chin in the middle of his vast chest.

Clegane couldn't reply, he had been rendered catatonic by the sight before him. He may have grunted but he couldn't be sure.

Sansa slithered her soft, nubile form up his body and pressed a kiss on his immobile lips. The whole sensuous movement spurred him into action. Even if his brain could not quite process all of the information, you can be damned sure that his body knew exactly what was going on. One of his large hands found the back of her head and buried its thick fingers in her hair, holding her closer. His tongue slid between her lips and set about discovering any hidden places that he may have missed the night before. Sansa moaned in approval and maneuvered herself into a position to straddle his hips, rolling her own against his now diamond-hard morning wood.

She drew her mouth away from his and their eyes locked. They both held their breaths as she canted her hips, lifted herself up and allowed herself to sink down onto him. The air rushed from their lungs in a rush as he bottomed out inside her. She clutched at his hands, moving them to her hips and then pressed her hands into his pectorals. She ran her pink tongue along her bottom lip before burying her teeth into it and she began to undulate her body on top of him.

There could be no greater heaven than being ridden by Sansa Stark... in the sleep space of a big rig.

One of Cleganes hands began to wander, moving from his assigned place on her hip up to a tight rosy nipple and a soft round breast. The other absconded as well, moving to the small symmetrical patch of neatly trimmed auburn curls covering her sex. He would not last long, not with his little bird impaled on his cock, not when he'd been dreaming of her every night since the day she'd sailed into the diner and met his eyes for the very first time (and the last until last night). He would have to speed her along, otherwise she'd be left wanting and she should not have to want for anything.

His calloused thumb buried itself in her wet folds and sought out her clit, teasing her closer to release. She moaned and rocked more aggressively against him, her walls clenching onto his cock tightly, making him grit his teeth. He dropped his hand from her breast back to her hip and he pulled her even more roughly onto him. 

The cab was filled with the sound of skin rhythmically slapping on skin and the heavy breathing of two souls seeking urgent release when suddenly there was a sharp series of raps on the drivers side door of the truck. Stranger was on his feet in the front seat with an unwelcoming bark.

They both froze mid thrust.

"Sansa Stark!" Catelyn Starks terse voice was heard quite clearly through the locked door and over the disgruntled doberman. "You are late for your breakfast shift."

Sansa made an adorable 'eep' sound that would have been funny in any other circumstance.

"Sandor Clegane." Cat continued. "I'd like a word with you before you head out this morning."

FUCK!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Kellpie. You left a positive comment on one of the chapters but it vanished. Not sure if I accidently deleted it or something (I didn't even know I could do that, if I did) but I'm sorry if I did. I appreciate you reading. ☺
> 
> So now... I have no idea what will happen next so, you'll need to be a bit patient while I think of something.... I... uhhh! yeah so ... yeah! That's happening.  
> 😁😁😁


	6. The Indomitable Mrs Stark

****

**Chapter 6 - The Indomitable Mrs Stark**

He dallied.

He had dawdled off to the ablution block after Sansa had hurriedly pulled on her clothes and bolted over a very startled Stranger for the door, pressing a misguided kiss on his scarred side as she hastened away. He took his time showering and dressing... pulling on his brand new socks with care. He almost didn't want to wear them. They were easily the finest thing he'd ever owned. But she had made them for him and even though they were a little tight... (hmmm tight...) he wouldn't be without them.

He took Stranger for a quick walk, noting with some disgruntlement that all three of his so called 'friends' trucks were still in the parking lot despite the lateness of the hour. He made sure Stranger left a steaming pile of poo under Bronns door and thoroughly hosed down both Tor and Bris' tyres.

And he loitered outside of the diner for a while too, a little annoyed that he had no smokes to give him an excuse to be there. The Little Bird was not a fan of cigarettes and he'd all but given them up ever since he'd first had her sitting in his cab with a small wrinkle in her nose.

He wasn't scared about going in... Fuck you!

Eventually, he pulled in a deep shaky breath and yanked open the door, stomped inside, kicked off his boots and looked around the diner.

The Cunts! The three of them were all sitting in a row on one side of their booth grinning at him. Bronn gave him a gleeful thumbs up. Brienne, meanwhile, raised her hand and pointed across the diner meaningfully, though her smile didn't slip either.

His dark eyes followed the path that she had indicated and there was Catelyn Stark sitting straight backed in a booth with a steaming teacup in front of her, obviously waiting for him to join her.

Oh, Seven Fucking Hells! He gulped.

He swore to the Gods that if that was Tormund that he could hear chuckling, he would beat the tar out of him later!

He stretched up to his full intimidating height, plastered a scowl on his already distorted features and stalked over to the landladys booth. He slid into the bench opposite her and glared down at the table top. There was silence.

Was everyone in the diner watching? He chanced a glance up, looking through the curtain of his lank hair. Yep, everyone was watching. BASTARDS!

"Jeyne." Catelyn Starks sharp voice rang out suddenly. He was glad that he managed to restrain himself from jumping in his seat. "Be a good girl and get Mr Clegane his usual."

"Yes, Mrs Stark."

There was the pitter-patter of her little mouse feet running away.

Silence again... She was staring at his down turned head... He could almost feel her icy stare boring into his brain, he was sure he could.

He could also feel another pair of eyes on him... More benign than her mothers, Sansa was somewhere in the room and she was watching unobtrusively from where ever she was. He didn't dare look for her.

"I have heard your name almost non-stop, everyday, since Sansa graduated." Cats voice was lower now, almost a hiss, obviously addressing him more discretely than before. "Mr Clegane this, Mr Clegane that... It's been exhausting."

He looked up at her, the surprise evident on his face. She had the same coloured eyes as Sansas, only more cool and world wary. Not quite as bright and brilliant.

She raised a sculpted eyebrow at his expression.

"You had to know that... surely?" Cat snapped impatiently, "She's been dribbling all over herself for months because of you."

Her lips pressed into a thin line at his bemused look.

"You had no idea at all..." She rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head in mock despair before her tone became business like. "Thank you, Jeyne dear."

Clegane sat back as a plate heaped with bacon, eggs and toast was placed before him, along with his cutlery and a coffee cup which was quickly filled to the brim with rich black caffeinated goodness.

He wasn't hungry. He picked up his coffee cup and took a gulp of the scalding beverage and risked a look around the busy diner. Sansa was taking Sheriff Tarleys order, her eyes shifting from the cops happy round face to the booth containing her mother and her... her... whatever he was. She caught Cleganes eye for a brief moment and she blushed brightly and looked away again, only to look right back a second later. His cheeked twitched in response.

"Clegane." Catelyn Stark clicked her fingers in front of his eyes, bringing him back to the very important, one sided conversation he was engaged in.

She leaned forwards over the table, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I want you to understand me very clearly." She hissed softly, "Sansa is not one of your, no doubt, many women along your route. If you think for one moment that I will allow you to use my daughter like a pit stop, then I wish to assure you, Mr Clegane, that you are very, _very_ much in error."

She leaned back in her seat and picked up her teacup, taking a small ladylike sip, her eyes drilling into Cleganes stoic face.

"What exactly are your intentions?" Cat asked over the rim of her cup. "Because if last nights ruckus was just a one off, she needs to be informed immediately so that _I_ can clean up the damage that you've done."

"She's not." He grumbled lowly.

"Galbart Glover!" Cat suddenly shouted, her eyes still fixed on the man opposite her. "If you don't take off your boots, Gods Help Me!"

Across the other side of the diner, Gal Glover froze midstep, backed up to the door, toed off his boots and sheepishly tiptoed to the counter.

"She's not what?" She enquired in a normal tone.

Clegane looked at her surreptitiously through the swath of hair covering his face. "She's not one of many women... There's no one else."

Cat raised her eyebrow again, this time, looking very skeptical.

"You'll forgive me if I find that very hard to believe." She replied coldly. "Even Bri has men in Sunspear and Kings Landing..." 

"There's no one!" He snapped back, his head up and back straightening. "I don't lie!"

The diner went quiet in the wake of his words, uttered much louder than he had intended. Cat ignored everyone staring at them and looked at Clegane with calculating eyes. Clegane glared right back, his stony eyes colliding forcefully with her icy stare.

Cat eventually sat back and picked up her teacup again.

"Alright." She nodded absently and took a delicate sip of her tea, before setting her cup down again. "So... what are your intentions?"

Clegane shrugged and took a massive gulp of coffee. "S'not like I planned anything... just happened, didn't it."

"Mrs Stark?" A small voice intruded on the conversation, drawing their glares to the unfortunate soul. Jeyne peeped (like a mouse) and looked down at her light blue trainers. "General Stark is on the phone, ma'am." She muttered before scuttling off again.

Catelyn Stark placed her palms on the table top and eased out of the booth, straightening elegantly and smoothing her clothing. She stepped over to Cleganes side of the booth and looked down at him.

"I suggest, Mr Clegane, that you get a plan right quick..." She leaned in close to him, her breath fluffing the stray hairs around his ear, "because if you hurt my little girl in any way, I will have you strung up on that tree out there for all the world to see..." She nodded her head towards the giant, blood red weirwood tree that dominated the view out of the front windows, "Men will have nightmares for years when they see what we Starks do to you."

She stood up and looked meaningfully down at him. Her eyes held nothing but ice and a very real threat of death and dismemberment... maybe even flaying.

"You must excuse me while I speak to my husband. Enjoy your breakfast." She smiled briefly and swept away to answer her call.

Clegane stared vacantly at the empty place across from him for a while before picking up his knife and fork and tucking into his cooling breakfast as if nothing had happened. He held his half full coffee cup in the air, indicating that he wanted a refill and gulped at it before clonking it down on to the table top. As bid, Jeyne dutifully came to his side and sloshed more steaming coffee into his cup.

He pondered as he ate, chewing on his bacon and dipping his toast into his egg yolks. She'd said ruckus. He slugged at his coffee again. Well, he guessed that his rig wasn't sound proofed, though he didn't think they were _that_ loud... Were they?

He glanced out of the corner of his eye towards his 'friends'. They, all three of them, broke into wide grins as soon as his eyes found them in their regular booth. He sneered at them and lowered his eyes back to his food. Fuck! Yes, they must have been loud.

He would need to think about all of this.

Luckily, driving left him plenty of time for that particular activity... and he really needed to get on the road. He was hours behind

He finished his meal and his coffee in his little bubble of self imposed seclusion as quickly as he could.

He stood up from the booth as soon as he was done and made for the counter to pick up a coffee to go and the regular baggy of meat off-cuts for Stranger that the short order cook, Hodor, always put aside for him. He did his best to ignore everyone else in the diner, though he knew that every eye was on him, more so than normal.

"Here you go Mr Clegane." Jeyne warbled at him, as she slid the paper cup and paper bag over to him at the register.

He grunted shortly in reply, turned and made for the door.

He made brief eye contact with Sansa Stark, standing by a booth containing a group from Cerwyn Construction. She was watching him leave, hugging her empty tray against her chest, with wide eyes and her bottom lip trapped under her teeth. He kept on walking until he went to find his boots amongst the untidy pile by the door. He knelt down to rifle through them and while down there, he glanced at his socks.... brand spanking new and hand knitted by the young woman across the room. The woman who was in his bed only a short while ago. The beautiful fiery haired woman whom he'd been in love with ever since he'd first lay his unworthy eyes on her. The woman he was just told was mad for him too.

He was the stupidest motherfucker who was ever stupid!

He stood up quickly and strode across the diner towards her. She had turned away in the interim, but he took hold of her shoulder and turned her back towards him, quite roughly. Her tray clattered onto the table and then the floor as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the linoleum and kissing her soundly.

Her slender arms wrapped around his wide shoulders and her elegant fingers wound themselves into his hair. With this kiss, Sandor Clegane was going for a quick but demonstrative declaration. Sansa Stark had other ideas as her tongue slipped nimbly between his lips and began a passionate exploration of his mouth, causing a soft rumble to grow in his chest along with the rapid thud of his heart. He had to remind himself that he was standing in the middle of a busy diner full of truckers and workmen.

... And he _was_ reminded by a sharp wolf whistle from somewhere behind him (Bronn, most likely). He drew back from her, lowered her gently back to the floor and pried his hands away from her bum (it was not his fault that it was the most convenient way to pick her up).

She looked up at him with her glorious eyes round and glistening, and her cheeks blooming bright crimson.

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a quick half smile.

"I'll see you next week." He rasped, sweeping his palm over her temple, smoothing back the loose tendrils of hair glinting there.

Then he turned to go. Catelyn Stark was obviously back from her phone call. She stood by the door holding his boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My undying gratitude to @Redbirdblackdog for the new decorations. I hope to do it justice.


	7. Best Laid Plans...

**Chapter 7 - Best Laid Plans...**

One good thing about being a linehaul driver was that it left you with a whole heap of time to think, to mull and to deliberate.

... and that was exactly what Sandor Clegane needed to do. He needed to think, really hard, about what was happening along his route from Casterly Rock to Hardhome and what he was intending to do about it all.

He left Wintertown that morning without further incident and made it to Hardhome in record time (late start not withstanding). His drops along the way were all accurate and dealt with expediently.

He didn't get drunk. He didn't get into a fight.

THAT was completely unprecedented.

All of the time that he was on the road, he thought and pondered with absolute clarity of mind. He built scenarios and disseminated information. He came to a number of variable conclusions and all of them ended with he and Sansa Stark living happily ever after in one way or another.

It was safe to say that he was in good spirits as he finished his loading at the pipeline and started heading back down South. The sun had even peeked through the perpetual clouds... Stranger was happy (Okay, Stranger was less ornery than usual) and the outlook, overall, was bright. From Hardhome to The Wall, the roads were clear and easy. He had only one pallet to offload at Fort Nights Watch and then he had nothing standing in his way between there and Wintertown and his Little Bird with her soft blushing smiles and glorious eyes (... and enthusiastic kisses and magnificent tits... and tight quim and succulent bum).

And then it all turned to shit.

Clegane was familiar with military procedures. He'd stopped at the Army base at least once a fortnight for near enough to two decades. He knew enough to know that is was not usual for a Captain to man the guard hut at the gate and he knew enough to recognise a Stark when he saw one.

He'd never met Sansas older brother but the piercing blue eyes and copse of auburn hair was enough to alert him to the fact that he was looking down at Robb Stark as he slid his window down to present his ID lanyard.

Captain Robb Stark looked up at him with narrowed eyes and a deep scowl etched on what would normally be uncommonly handsome features. He snatched the lanyard up and looked it over briefly before looking back up at Clegane in a very unfriendly fashion.

"Step out of the vehicle please, sir." His tone was colder than a Hardhome whore. (Not that Clegane would know that... shut up!) 

Clegane fixed his face in a glower. He knew where this was heading, he should have foreseen it. He flung his door open and lowered himself down to the snowy ground. Stranger, excited as usual to be at his favourite place, leapt down after him and immediately began to circle Stark, sniffing at his legs and boots, his stubby tail wagging and his long tongue lolling over a row of razorblade teeth.

"Contain the animal, _sir_." Stark sneered and stepped away from the dog.

"Stranger... Back!" Clegane snapped sharply.

The dog looked genuinely taken aback by the harsh command but retreated quickly behind Cleganes legs, sitting obediently.

Stark looked up at the towering trucker and slowly scanned his face; taking in the short unkempt beard, long lank hair and the all encompassing burn scars that overran half of his face. It was true that Clegane didn't paint a pretty picture from the outside, especially when he was road rumpled and hadn't showered in a day or so. Stark sneered again and crisply handed back the lanyard.

"You're to report to the Generals office once your drop is complete." Stark informed him perfunctorily, stepping back into the guard hut and picking up the RT unit. He looked back over at Clegane who was tucking his lanyard into his coat pocket. "I said, you're dismissed." He turned his back.

Clegane ground his teeth together and turned to haul himself back into the truck cab. Stranger jumped up after him, clambering over his human to settle in the passenger seat and looking confused at not being greeted in the manner to which he was accustomed.

"I get the feeling that this ain't gonna be pretty, boy." Clegane rumbled at his dog, rubbing him behind his pointy ears. Stranger looked up at him dejectedly and stretched to lay his head on Cleganes thigh with a whine. "Yeah..." Clegane muttered in resignation. "Might as well get it over with, aye?"

He shoved the truck into gear and rolled onto the base. The exchange at the Quartermasters dock went quickly and smoothly, though Clegane was aware that he kept getting the side-eye from the soldiers on duty. Stranger kept to the cab, sulking, denied his usual treats and play and no doubt blaming his human for it too.

Clegane was forced to ask the QM for directions to the Generals office, he'd never been given authorisation to see any part of the camp other than the dock and the mess. Instead of directions though, he was pointed towards a Military Police jeep, with a man who was so obviously another Stark behind the wheel. FUCK!

How many bloody Starks were there?

He strode over to the jeep and wordlessly sat himself in the passenger seat, staring out of the front windscreen with a thundercloud over his head. The MP (whose patch actually named him Tully) drove on, navigating the camps corridors and parade grounds in silence until they came to the forbidding, castle-like administration building. The jeep pulled up outside and the MP stepped out, indicating that Clegane should follow. He followed reluctantly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his guts.

He tried to remember everything that he'd ever heard about General Stark. He knew he was a stickler for the rules and regulations. He was a hard arse, but that he was fair (at least fair with his soldiers, probably not so much with the man who'd boned his daughter).

The MP, predictably, took them to the top floor and into a wide greeting room with a waspish looking old woman manning the reception desk. The woman glared over her spectacles at the towering trucker as he stomped out of the elevator with his escort and she hastily pressed an intercom button on her desk phone.

"Sandor Clegane to see you, Sir." She intoned pleasantly, belying the glower on her wrinkled up features.

"Send him in, Mordane." Came the crackly reply.

The old womans lips thinned to a white line and she nodded curtly for Clegane to enter through the heavy wooden door to the left. Clegane wondered for a moment if he, considering the current chilly environment, would need to fight his way out of the base...

FUCK!

He fixed his face in his best, most fearsome scowl and thudded his way across the reception area, shouldering his way roughly into General Starks office.

It looked exactly like an office that you'd see in a war movie. Antique military paraphernalia, books, dark wood and a distinguished man in uniform ensconced behind a massive desk, looking stoic.

Clegane found himself standing up straighter and pulling his shoulders back.

He looked nothing like Sansa. He was broad shouldered with dark hair and swarthy skin from being outside. He had dark grey eyes. He was obviously where the younger Stark girl got her looks.

Ned Stark looked him over with an unreadable expression before standing, arranging his uniform and coming around his desk to stand before Clegane. He held out his hand.

"It's good to finally meet you, Mr Clegane." He greeted the trucker cordially and accepted his hand in a firm shake, backing up and showing him to one of the chairs facing his desk. "You've been a regular fixture in the camp and in Wintertown for quite some time now."

Clegane grunted his assent and sat down heavily in the comfortable leather chair while Stark returned to his throne like office chair. Once settled, he steepled his fingers in front of him and regarded Clegane over them.

"How old are you, Clegane?" He asked bluntly, all civility melting away in an instant.

Clegane remained stoney-faced and silent.

"I ask because, you've been delivering for the Lannisters for 16 years..."

"Been driving for the Lannisters for 19 years."

"So you're 37 then."

"I'm 34."

"So, you've been driving since you were 15."

"Been driving since I was 12, been driving for the Lannisters since I was 15. Listen Stark, what do you want?" Clegane just wanted the hammer to fall... get on with it.

Ned Starks brows dipped into a deep frown of displeasure at being addressed thusly.

"My wife informs me that you've... formed an attachment... with my daughter." Stark stated baldly. "I don't approve and it will cease immediately."

"Like Fuck!"

"Excuse me?" 

"You heard." Clegane stood, "And we're done." He made for the office door.

"We're NOT done!" Stark thundered. "Sit your arse back down! Now!"

Clegane turned back swiftly, swooping down on the Four Star General and Warden of the North "I'm not one of your fucking grunts, you don't get to order me to do fuck all!"

The two men stood glaring at each other over the vast expanse of the Generals antique desk.

Stark eventually straightened and sat down in his desk chair, his face became an emotionless mask. He held out his hand inviting Clegane to sit.

He belligerently lowered himself back into the chair, his nose wrinkled in a half snarl.

Stark took a calming breath, and leaned forwards again.

"Let me expound on my reasoning, Mr Clegane and then I'll allow you to rebutt."

Clegane snorted. _Allow me?_ Fuck Off!

"Sansa is only 18years old. She is attending university next year, for four years. How will your.... relationship... continue then?" He raised a condescending eyebrow and continued. "And while she may have harboured some kind of 'grateful crush' on you for assisting her when the lorry broke down or for removing her ex boyfriend from the diner, she is in fact, seeing Joffery Baratheon... a young man closer to her in age and situation. I'll also add that you are, not only too OLD for her, you are also too... worldly, shall we say."

Stark gave him a hard glare.

"Don't think that I am unaware of your reputation. We may not have met before now, but I hear everything that goes on in the North." Stark settled back into his chair looking both smug and angry at the same time. "You'll leave her be. She's not for you. This will go nowhere further, or else."

Sandor Clegane didn't like having his hand forced. Sandor Clegane did not respond well to threats. Catelyn Stark was one thing, he'd known her for years (ever since she'd first hollered at him to go back outside and shake the snow from his shoulders and take off his filthy boots before coming into her diner). He respected her and her protective instincts. This guy though, puffed up with his own sense of import, thinking he had control over Clegane. It immediately sent Cleganes hackles up.

He stood up from his chair again and walked to the door in silence. He eased the door open and stopped on the threshold, looking back over his shoulder.

"You don't know fuck all about me, Stark." He growled. "I'll do whatever I want. Even you and your army won't stop me."

With that parting sally, he slammed the heavy door and stormed to the stairwell, leaving MP Tully to give chase. He didn't stop walking; taking the stairs two at a time downwards, bursting out of the building into the teeth of a freezing snow flurry. He left the Jeep and made his own stormy way back to the loading dock with long purposeful strides... the long walk doing nothing to temper his anger, instead stoking it to a fury.

Ignoring the staring soldiers, he made it to his truck, yanking open the door and clambering up into his seat. The engine rumbled to life and he planted his foot, revving the giant engines as he pulled away.

No one barred the giant riggs way and he left Fort Nights Watch behind in the snow.

He needed to rethink everything. He had time... hours until he would get to Wintertown and his uncertain welcome.

Catelyn Stark would certainly follow her husbands lead, despite her previous somewhat encouraging words. And Ned Stark had influence, lots of influence. Too much.

What could he do?

Loose Clegane his job? Would the Lannisters do that after so long? Badger Sansa into abandoning her quarry? Throw rich and influential young men at her, like Joffery Baratheon? Hells, he could probably make a no one like Sandor Clegane disappear.

Clegane grimaced and drove... He drove and drove, his thoughts becoming darker and less hopeful as he went. His little bird was slipping away.

He knew she would go away to university. Of course she would... and four years was such a long time. She would forget him soon enough... Of course she would.

He was just south of the Mole's Town when he saw a common occurrence on this road, at this time of year. At first look, a stranded vehicle in the shifting distance. He felt a smile curve his lips as he saw the drivers door of the lorry open and a red haired beauty stepped out onto the icy gravel and raised her hand to hail the truck.

He shook his head with a chuckle as he cruised to a stop behind the vehicle. He waited until his passenger door swung wide and a pretty little bird climbed up into the cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter three times, it's still only slightly less shit than the first three times I wrote it. Rock on!
> 
> This is what happens when I don't know where the story is going...


End file.
